


Unfamiliar

by Ceylon_and_Cyanide



Category: Diabolik Lovers
Genre: Comedy, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Familiars, Magic, Romance, Tsukinami's in their wolf forms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceylon_and_Cyanide/pseuds/Ceylon_and_Cyanide
Summary: After your master died you were able to successfully open a gate to another world, summoning a demon who bestowed upon you two powerful wolf familiars. As a person with no great ambitions you treat them as family instead of as tools for your magic, the only family you've ever known.One day, by happenstance, you learn that they aren't actually wolves. What brought them to their current state? And why did the demon give them to someone who so aggressively wants to live a normal, simple life?
Relationships: Tsukinami Carla/Reader, Tsukinami Shin/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	1. Peek through the gate

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought it would be absolutely hilarious if the Tsukinami's were trapped in their wolf forms, and they had crushes on someone who was thoroughly convinced they were regular dogs and gave them belly rubs and tried to play fetch with them and dressed them in silly costumes like hotdogs or business suits, and they just went along with it cuz they wanted their crush's attention and to make them like them more.
> 
> But anyway this isn't the funny part yet so have some angst.

Gazing into the swirling black void, you’ve finally done it. A gate to the Demon World, so your master called it. Is that what the residents call themselves? You’re not sure how you would ask.  
This achievement seems undeserved, since your master did most of the work.  
But he’s gone now.  
It’ll close in less than a day and you’ll likely never be able to replicate this feat again.

Many years ago, he said, his wife was taken from him by vampires, stolen away into the Demon World, the goal of his research was to return her to their life together. As a human, he said, he had no magic, so he relied on mystic relics and science in order to bridge the worlds.  
You knew, however, that whatever he was wasn’t human. The way he’d react when you cut your hand, or when the time came for your blood to flow, the times you’ve caught him over the carcass of a slain villager, holding his bleeding, still beating heart, the way that even though he took you in as a child he hasn’t aged a day… He must have known you knew. It was an unspoken secret. As were your feelings for him, never to be requited as he devoted his life to finding and rescuing his love, who has been lost longer than you have been alive. Never to be requited because he’s gone.  
An unfortunate accident occurred while you were foraging for herbs to go with that night’s dinner. Upon your return you found him dead on the ground, heart pierced by a silver bullet. The book he always carried with him, his most cherished possession, was unceremoniously crumpled to the ground.  
On the rare occassion when you went into town you heard talk of a vampire hunter wandering through, searching for a monster hidden among men. You brought it up one day, but your master paid it no heed. You were worried. You knew he was a monster, but he was your world.  
Maybe if you pushed more, told him how afraid you were all that time, he might’ve fled and gone on to live for a thousand years. But you let it go unsaid, like everything else. And now your world is gone, and a gate to a new one lies open before you. An opportunity you’ll never get again.

You lift a hand to swish at the purple miasma pouring from the surface, a light, warm mist that smells of sulfur and roses. You don’t want to enter it, there’s nothing for you there. And yet your curiosity gets the best of you and you peer inside, pressing your face past the surface.  
The air is warm, so comforting despite the strange smell, it fills you with it’s energy. A small glimpse at an immense power that could be yours if you just reached a little further. This would be the kind of thing that would tempt a man with a less clear goal than your master’s, but is useless on someone as ambitionless as yourself. Somehow, by not being of the kind to seek this knowledge, you’re rendered immune to it’s dangers.  
You see nothing. Squinting into the darkness, there’s just more nothing. You don’t go any further, not wanting to leave behind the body of your master, and withdraw.

His body has been sitting there for days. The moment you saw him, saw the silver bullet, you knew there was no hope of saving him, or getting any kind of closure by confessing all that you’ve known, all that you’ve felt. Over his body you wailed, cried, lamented, hoping that your agony and loneliness would compel whatever unearthly realm he hailed from into returning him to you. But nothing happened. Your voice grew coarse and weak and your tears ran dry. You collapsed next to him and slept.  
Then you awoke and saw his body. You wept again, biting at your thumb when you could no longer suffer the pain of screaming with your raw and searing throat, tearing through the kerotin and meat and skin. The taste of blood, quenching your thirst, the swallowed flesh, nourishing your body, did that bring you any closer to his own wretched state from when he was alive? You clung to him. His body was cold and pale, but just as cold and pale as he was when he was with you. Untouched by any signs of decay or deterioration, it was easy to imagine him pushing you away, telling you to stop wasting time, and to return to your work. And yet he is unmoving. He was a walking corpse from the beginning, and now he’s just a corpse.  
After crying yourself to sleep at his side once more, you awoke with your wits about you by some miracle. The book he was holding was dog-eared, something you’d never dreamt of him doing to something he treasured so much. You opened it and read the words, none of which you could understand, but they were important to him at least, so you made an attempt.  
A eulogy from you would have meant nothing to him, so you favored reading aloud from that page, with your hoarse voice, as tear after tear fell from your face. A few lines into it you noticed the pattern, the repetition, it was a chant. Carried away by the rhythm of it, nourished by your own blood and flesh, you spoke in a strong voice you couldn’t recognize as your own and sang it to completion, before collapsing on the ground once more, the weakness brought on by your lament finally catching up with you.  
When you were finally able to lift your body and open your eyes, you saw this very vision before you, the portal to the Demon World, floating over the corpse of your most dearly beloved. His life’s work finally achieved, days after his death, by someone without the means to carry out his final will.

You fall to your knees before the portal. Your blood, flesh, and tears, shed from you in your agony, have been cleared from the floor. Your body has been repaired as well, aside from the nail on your right thumb, which seems to have been taken away as a sacrifice. Your master’s body, however, is dissolving into nothingness, seeming to fuel the portal in some way. There’s only enough of him left to last till morning.

So you hold his hand and wait.


	2. A meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh im more of a cat person

The yellow light of morning peers through the thin curtains, left open all this time. Your master’s hand is cold in yours, like it’s always been, but the lightness to it does nothing but signal his most final demise. Soon there will be nothing left of him to cry over and you’ll be forced to move on from this seemingly eternal moment. 

“What troubles you so, child of man?” A voice asks from the darkness swirling from your master’s body. Your master, your teacher, your beloved.

“The man whose death fuels this wretched gate.” You sigh, staring at the pale hand in yours, so much larger than your own and yet so weak.

“And who would that be?” The voice asks. Dark, melodious, and sweet. It would enchant you if you weren’t already bewitched by another.

“My master.”

“Will you tell me his name?”

“I was never made aware of it,” you sigh again. So much went unsaid between you, yet no one knew either of you better than the other. The way he changes how he pushes his hair back depending on his mood, the way he loathes it when he’s interrupted while reading but would entertain you regardless, the fact that he loved hot apple cider even on the most sweltering autumn days… Even if you knew not his name or origins, you knew who he was as a man, and he knew you. That was enough.

“I see…” the voice says, barely above a whisper yet commanding your attention enough to bring you from your thoughts.

Slowly a figure emerges from the gate. Flowing white hair and a billowing scarlet cape, dressed in the style of an aristocrat from the old world. His eyes are gold and he wears a soft expression, and yet it gives off the feeling that he only appears vulnerable because there exists no threat great enough to warrant him being on guard. He stands before you, untouchable. So this is a demon.

“I see…” he says again, his voice is quiet and yet you feel it rumble through the room, sending shockwaves through the floorboards and into the walls, rustling the curtains. “I knew him once.”

“I figured as much. Were you the one to take his wife from him?”

The man looks down at you, entertained that you would even expect a response from him.

“She left of her own accord. She lives with her current husband in pure bliss. Tell me, what did he say happened to her?”

Demons lie, you know this. Yet your master was one too and you trusted his every word. He’ll always deserve that respect from you.

“Only that she was stolen from him by vampires.”

“Vampires you say…” The corners of his lips curl up in a smile. “And tell me, would you say you were abandoned at the base of this mountain by your parents or by humans?”

“I would say I was left here. I was too young to remember if I was abandoned or lost, or if it was done by humans or anyone with relations to me. All I know is that I was left, by whom matters little.”

“Interesting… And did you know of his true nature?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then why did you stay, knowing he was a monster who cursed his own kind?”

“Nothing about him was monstrous. He was nothing but kind and generous till his dying day. Even now he gives up his body so we can carry on this very conversation.”

The demon smiles at you and chuckles softly.

“Enough of that, your devotion is quite clear. I’ve been watching the two of you all this time and it never ceased to amaze me. Yet we only have so much time left together. Why did you call me here?”

“I did no such thing.” 

“Your evocation, fasting, and sacrifice, were they all simply coincidence or was it Fate?”

“If Fate brought you here, shouldn’t you be asking it the reason why?”

The demon’s eyes glow and he brings a hand up to cover his smile.

“Silly creature, you have the opportunity to ask the king of the Demon Realm anything in the world, would you truly waste that opportunity?”

“The opportunity doesn’t belong to me. Bring him back and answer to him instead.”

The demon kneels beside you, bringing a gloved hand to your master’s face. He looks more at peace than he ever did in his sleep.

“He failed at his task horribly and tried to defy me, yet his loss brings me no satisfaction. In honor of this, let me grant you a wish.”

The demon meets your eyes and you struggle to maintain his gaze, as gentle as it would be on another, it exudes a great, intimidating pressure. You’ll likely be crushed before long.

“Bring him back.” You command.

The demon laughs.

“You would be so cruel? For our kind death is a cherished gift. See how pleased he is to receive it.” An unseen force holds your head and pulls it down to meet your master’s. Unracked by nightmares, unbothered by the cruelness of the world, his expression is much lighter than you’ve ever seen it. His face is unfamiliar. He looks truly happy.

You tremble as the force holds you in place, and collapse against the ground weeping when it withdraws. As you right yourself the demon wipes a tear from your eye and brings it to his mouth.

“The blood, body, tears, and love of a human have far more power than either of you could conceive. It wasn’t he who brought me here. Now tell me, summoner, what do you request?”

Your master’s hand falls from your own. Even if his experiments failed, it was he who inspired you to complete his work. It’s still his success.

“I want him to know that he was loved.”

The demon’s eyes glow in excitement but it quickly fades, like you fanned the embers of a dying fire.

“I cannot speak to the dead with what little power you gave me, but I can let you know how he felt towards you.”

“I already know how he felt. I’d rather not be reminded of it.”

The excitement glows in his eyes again and he places a hand on yours.

“Of course, my child. You felt so lonely by his side, and while you poured all your love into him, he returned nothing. Allow me to do something for you. I can cure your loneliness, I can give you the power to never feel so small again, all you have to do is say the word.”

His words are enticing, you can feel the vibrations of his speech through your body, and hear the clinking of plates and bowls in their cabinets. He has more than enough power to grant any request of yours.

“I’m a human of no great ambition and no significance at all, I have no need for your power. If you so insist on granting my request, then let me never be lonely again. Tell me where I could find an abandoned animal looking for a home, perhaps a cat or a dog.”

The man laughs a light chuckle and the reverberation causes thatch to fall from the roof.

“A dog, you say? How perfect! I actually have one or two looking for a home at the moment, would you like to take them in?”

So demons like dogs too.

“That would be wonderful.” You place a hand over the demons and lightly squeeze it in affirmation. He gives you a quizzical yet delighted look.

“It’s been quite some time since a human sparked my interest so much… you are indeed insignificant, yet you may turn into a fount of entertainment. I may check in on you again, my dear.” The demon kisses the back of your hand and stands up, giving you a bow before sinking into the darkness of the portal. 

* * *

The experience was bizarre enough that you quickly forget it, staring at the ashen remains of your master as he continues to dissolve to feed the gate you had no need of conjuring. There isn’t even enough left of him to hold onto. Never again will you see his hair, black and soft like charcoal, or eyes, so crystalline and intelligent. Never again will you sit together in the summer breeze as he recounts to you stories of his youth, the days he spent with his love and with his brothers. There's so little left that the gate is visibly growing smaller each moment that passes, unable to maintain itself with so little fuel. Soon you’ll be forced to move on.

Then you hear a whining sound, high-pitched and disgruntled. A brown wolf falls through the gate, with something tied around it’s neck. It rights itself and immediately goes to lick it’s presumably injured hind leg, before sniffing the air and turning to you, growling. A dog, the demon said. You suppose a wolf counts as a dog. 

You reach out a hand to it and it growls.

It’s fur is a lovely color, a pale reddish brown that’s lighter on it’s chest, belly, muzzle, and lower limbs. It’s left eye is injured, a scar over it’s closed lids, but the right eye is gold. The same gold as the demon’s. A demon wolf?

You hear another growl, deeper and more menacing, coming from the gate. The brown wolf starts barking at it aggressively, completely forgetting you. 

The face of a white wolf is forced through the gate, blood around it’s mouth and on it’s fur. It’s snarling, thrashing, barking and bearing it’s teeth. It’s face goes back through the portal but is forced back through, with even more blood on it’s face this time. 

You feel helpless seeing it struggle so, should you pull it through the gate so the fighting stops, or should you push it back through so it can stay where it would clearly prefer being?

“P-please stop! It doesn’t want this!” You call through the gate. The wolf turns and snarls at you, lunging forward to bite at your face, but a pale hand pulls it back. The wolf growls again and starts barking, but a hand forces it’s mouth closed and fastens a muzzle over it. The brown wolf starts to howl.

The white wolf continues to struggle, but eventually gets forced through the now uncomfortably small opening of the gate, which slowly closes behind it, snipping off the fur at the end of it’s tail.

And now you’re trapped in your house with two angry, violent wolves.

This is why children are warned not to make deals with devils.


	3. Charcoal, Ashes, Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You begin to realize the nature of the beasts.

The wolves are hostile, but make no move to attack you. The brown one seems especially protective over the white wolf, who seems to be wounded. It’s shivering, shaking, yet standing on guard and snarling at you. You sit on the ground, next to the ashes of your beloved, and run your finger through the pile. Ignoring the wolves you wonder if it’s worth saving the remains, if there’s any use in keeping them around. Sentimental fool that you are, you get up to find a dustpan and a jar of some kind. He’d look down on such a custom, but keeping his remains in an urn will relieve some of your grief. You’ll scatter them when you’re ready, perhaps next autumn, when the apples are ready for harvest again.

When you return to the pile the brown wolf is batting at it with it’s paw, swiping from side to side and tossing the ashes into the air. 

You fall to the ground.

It’s just a wolf, it doesn’t know the significance of what it’s done, and yet it appears to be smiling at you, as if taking pleasure in your pain. You know better than to project human feelings on an animal, though.

“Please don’t do that,” you whisper, a plea to nothingness as the wolf can’t understand you, yet it stops and sits obediently.

You pause a moment at this. It seems that life has finally taken pity on you.

You walk to the ashes and scoop up what little you can into the jar, then place it above the fireplace. Seeing that the white wolf is still shivering, you decide to light a fire. There’s no use wallowing in misery when you have guests to entertain. And over the fire, you can cook your first meal in days.

“Come over here and warm yourselves,” you call to the wolves, not expecting any response. 

You descend to the basement, to the storage of food you were saving for the winter, as you feel too weak to go out and forage. Dried meats and vegetables, some grains, and an apple will make for a luxurious meal you’ve done nothing to deserve.

On the ground floor again you see the wolves by the fire. A curious sight. They aren’t curled up basking in the warmth, but instead waiting patiently, looking at you as if expecting something. Is it the meat you’re carrying?

At the kitchenette, preparing your meal, you keep looking over your shoulder at the two, waiting for them to pounce. The white wolf has such a solemn, grim expression from beneath its muzzle, while the brown wolf seems to be staring at you with a scrutinizing gaze. You slice up the vegetables and some meat and toss those and the grains into a pot with some water, then make your way past the hungry wolves to hang it over the fire.

“Pardon me,” you say to them. They remove themselves from your path. “I’ll have your food in a moment.” You return to the kitchenette to grab the remaining dried meat, and cut it into even portions to split between the two.

“Here you are,” you say, walking towards them. The brown wolf wags it’s tail. Wolves _are_ dogs, after all. Like this the creature looks almost cute, until it growls at you when you try to feed it from your hand. “Sorry,” you coo at it before placing the food at it’s feet. You back away.

The brown dog nudges the meat towards it’s fellow, who points it’s snout in the air and turns away. So even wild animals have standards. Or maybe it’s pride.

“You don’t need to do that, I have food for both of you.” You place equal portions of meat before each wolf. Neither of them touch the dried meat. Even if they aren’t hungry, meat is hard enough to come by as is and it’s a shame to waste it. Hopefully they’ll hunt for themselves, but if they can’t, you’ll have to set enough traps for the three of you, and every piece of meat you have will be all the more valuable. It’s likely they won’t be able to hunt for themselves, given that they were being held in captivity. Or perhaps they’re of the disposition prone towards overhunting, and would leave the ecosystem barren of game if left to freely wander.  
Then you realize your mistake. You reach a hand out to the white wolf, who growls and turns away.   
“Please hold still, I just want to remove your muzzle...”   
The creature freezes in place.   
“Thank you,” you smile. Despite your initial meeting, it seems like the creature may be sweet after all.   
The moment the muzzle is removed he snarls viciously and you draw back.   
“Please eat,” you sigh, walking away to grab a wooden spoon to mix your soup. You’d plea if you thought it would make a difference.

When you return they’re both eating, glaring up at you. The way they were treated before being brought through the gate… surely they were trained into a reluctant obedience by their previous caretaker. This seems cruel.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you offer, hoping these obedient creatures would be able to understand your words. Their gazes are harsher, matching golds that burn with malice as they desperately devour the food placed on the ground before them. 

“I’m sorry you have to put up with this, it’s all I have at the moment. I promise I’ll find you fresh food when I can,” you sigh, leaning with one hand over the fireplace as you switch from stirring the pot with your spoon and poking the fire with an iron rod. You yawn and close your eyes. Even standing is tiring. You sit on the ground with the wolves. 

Their fur looks so fluffy and warm. 

Neither of them are particularly good-natured, though that may be putting it a bit too lightly, but the brown wolf seems like less of a threat, so you reach a hand out to pet it’s tail. It flicks it away and looks at you with malice. Maybe it did take joy in scattering your beloved’s ashes.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh again, “I’m sorry,” you hold your head in your hands and weep. Though the wolves are in the same room as you, you’re basically alone. They knew you were weak from the beginning, this isn’t any great reveal of your vulnerability. If they attack you in this state, you’re fine with it. 

The brown wolf growls and scratches at it’s neck with it’s hind leg, unfastening whatever was tied around it’s neck. It barks at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob. If you stayed in the house, if you made dinner with ingredients you had in storage like you are now, none of this would have happened. It was your fault. Even though it was inevitable, you could have put it off for a while longer at least. Eventually the two of you would have separated for some reason or another, for long enough for the hunter to take him from you. But if you just had another day, or even a few moments, an hour at most, it would’ve been enough. He’s happier this way, happier than he’s ever been, but you can’t help feeling miserable. Was it really love if you’re left feeling so selfish, wishing for him to be by your side once more? You’re a wretched creature.

The wolf barks at you again, angrily.

“Whatever you’re thinking, do it. I deserve it,” you sigh, not looking up as your eyes unfocus, pointed towards the floor. You can’t see anything through the tears you should’ve been done shedding days ago.

The wolf forces it’s head between your arms, resting it’s chin on your knees with a long cylindrical container in it’s mouth. It’s whatever was tied to it’s neck earlier. The creature glares up at you with an indignant hate, a deep growl rumbles in the back of it’s throat. 

“I’m sorry, I really am trouble for you, aren’t I? I promise to try harder.” You raise your hand to ruffle the fur atop it’s head, but it turns it’s head to the side and plods away, taking a seat by it’s fellow. The two of them look at you expectantly, with a strangely dignified posture that reminds you of the demon that delivered the two into your care.

You open the container. In it is a letter and a fine, embroidered eyepatch. For a wolf? Is that necessary, or are these creatures used to a luxury above most humans?

_From now on these two brothers will serve you well as your familiars. They will do anything you ask of them, no matter how devious or unsavory, and are completely obedient to you alone. Their powers are above anything your mind has the faculties for imagining._

_I hope to see what the three of you accomplish._

_-Karlheinz_

So the letter reads.

Karlheinz? Is that the name of the demon? It’s rather strange in the mundaneity of it, perhaps it was chosen for the sake of being comprehensible to you.

But this letter explains the strangeness of the two.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I didn’t know you’d obey me so, you’re free to do as you please, but please don’t damage this place, it’s all I have left of him. Or me, for that matter. Frankly I’d prefer to live a bit longer.”

The wolves look at you, standing up slowly, before walking out the door one after the other. So it goes. 

You’re alone once more.

* * *

You tend the fire, crowding around it for warmth as the sun reaches it’s peak and begins it’s descent. You should clean, you should prepare for winter, there are so many chores and so much work to be done. Yet you poke at the fire, crumbling the used up logs now turned to charcoal. You’ve wasted so many days that could have been spent productively. What would your master say if he saw you in such a state? Would he scold you, demand you to stand in the cold in soaked clothes until you learn your lesson, or would he spare you one of his decreasingly rare moments of mercy and talk you through your troubles? Unfortunately you know the answer.

You raise yourself from your place on the floor, condemned to breathe the cool late-autumn air no longer warmed by the dying fire, and reach for the broom in the corner of the room. You sweep the ashes from beneath the fire. How much does their composition differ from the ones you saved, now that they’ve been purified of everything they once were? Now that their very essence has been used to fuel a selfish pursuit, whether it be knowledge or warmth? You are a fool. You deposit the ashes into a bucket to be carried to the compost pile at a later day. You can’t bear the thought of doing the same with his remains. You’re a fool.

You go to the kitchenette to cut the apple you planned on eating earlier. If you’ll be spending the rest of your day inside, the least you can do is do it productively. You’ll dry as many slices as you can over the fire. 

The apple is crisp, easily holding it’s structure as you cut slowly, creating thinner and thinner slices till you can see clearly through it’s sheer form. You’re overdoing it. You don’t want to go to the storage again to get enough to cover the griddle you’ll hang over the fire, and yet the way you’re doing this, you’ll likely be able to dry another batch before you go to sleep, and out of a desire for productivity you’ll have to make the descent once more. You’re wasting time. 

You slide your finger across the cutting board, gathering the wasted fruit juice, and bring it to your tongue. It’s so sweet. Perhaps too sweet. You sprinkle cinnamon and crushed cloves and nutmeg over the surfaces of the apple slices before drying them. Your master preferred them this way, too. 

Placing them over the fire, you think of your next task, something low effort that will have an immediate, positive result. You exchange the spent logs with fresh ones, placing the charcoal into a container. In your free time you like to use them for sketching, but you can’t waste anymore time indulging yourself in foolish things.

You decide to clean up your master’s lab, putting away his work that you finished by accident. Tomes of forbidden knowledge in a language he promised to teach you to read one day, but now you never will. Not that you care. You never saw the point of using magic for anything more than day to day convenience, like keeping the bath water warm or helping paint dry faster. Simple things that can make a person’s day, rather than an impossible pursuit that takes more effort than the pay off will be worth. Of course you never told him that, the way his crystalline eyes lit up with every advancement he made was too endearing, if it was gone from your life there’d be no point going on. And yet here you are. 

There’s a rhythmic thumping at the door, followed by a deep and unnaturally commanding bark. So the wolves have come for you. Will they break down the door if you don’t answer? No, you gave them that command. Even if they wanted to, their teeth could never sink into your flesh and tear you away from this world. And if you were to rescind that command… that would be too pathetic, even for you.

You open the door.

The white wolf seems to be looking down at you, despite only coming up to the level of your hips. Blood stains his coat. He flicks his tail impatiently, glancing towards the clearing before your house. His brother is there, scratching his ear with his hind leg, trying to break loose clumps of drying mud mixed with blood and gore. You don’t want to know what they’ve been up to. Hopefully this won’t have any lasting repercussions. At least your master was smart enough to keep his kills discrete. There doesn’t seem to be a trail, at least. 

“He needs a bath, doesn’t he?” 

The white wolf nods.

“Let me wipe him off before he comes inside, I don’t want too much of a mess,” you sigh.

You go to the bathroom, wet a rag with warm water and a small amount of soap, and return to the strange pair. 

The white wolf is standing before the brown one now, who is lying on his belly as his brother produces a deep growling sound, as if scolding him.

“Hey there…” you call out to the two, “Will you let me clean you off?” You call to the brown wolf. He lets out a low growl, but is silenced by a sharp bark from his fellow and begrudgingly approaches you. Even if they’re magical beings, this human-like behavior is bizarre. Yet it makes things like this simpler. 

The brown wolf sits in front of you, before the doorway, with his body facing you and his head looking to the side. 

“Sorry about this,” you murmur, reaching out with the cloth. He lets you brush away the clumps of mud, which quickly saturate the cloth. You manage to work out the largest globs of earth, as well as most of the other things. Grass, twigs, leaves, long, dark, bloody hairs, pebbles, and flesh. You know better than to ask what he was up to. You might get an answer.

Once he’s clean enough, you call him into the house. Despite never leaving the main room, he rushes ahead of you into the bathroom. When you catch up with him he’s sitting in the tub, flicking the tip of his tail back and forth. These two really do seem used to luxury.

You run the tap, slightly hotter than warm, and start to wet the wolf’s fur. Unlike what you’ve heard from stories, this dog seems to really enjoy baths, soaking up to his shoulders the moment the water level is high enough. As you pour shampoo into the water, his wagging tail below the surface mixes it in to form bubbles. 

As basic as it is, the shampoo you use is a bit pricey to use in such large quantities. Next time you’re in town you should pick up some dog shampoo. 

You start to work the soapy water into the wolf’s fur, loosening the dirt and washing it away. He doesn’t fight, almost in a daze as he soaks in the warmth. You know that feeling. On your days off your master would let you indulge in long baths, but for the most part forbid it. One day, however, you found him dozed off in a cold bubble bath surrounded by candles that had gone out long before your discovery. 

Remembering this, you smile for the first time since his death. It fills you with overwhelming guilt, even though you know he’s better off this way. The days spent with you, he did nothing but fight off his own misery. Your smile is gone as quickly as it came.

To wash the wolf’s face, you decide to use your hands so as not to hurt him. You rub behind his ears and his tail wags, splashing water everywhere. He growls at you and turns his head, you withdraw your hand. Instead he scratches at it with his hind leg. Maybe you’re reading his body language wrong. He does the same with his other ear, then turns to you. You’re not sure what he wants. Is it still okay to try to wash him?

You reach out a hand again. His expression hardens but he makes no attempt to move away.

“Sorry about this,” you murmur for what feels like the thousandth time as you wash his face, focusing on the blood on his muzzle. You try not to think too much about it. Despite the long strands of dark hair caught between his teeth, you convince yourself it’s from a rabbit he caught and devoured alongside his brother. 

You start to unplug the drain once he’s thoroughly cleaned, but he growls at you.

“I need to rinse you with clean water before you can leave the tub, will you stay until then?” You try to explain without a command. He calms down immediately, swishing his tail away from the drain. 

The two of you are entranced by the small whirlpool formed by the water going down the drain, taking with it soap and gore and grime, carving a universe of shapes and figures into the residual foam. That kind of image only lasts for a moment before it’s gone. It isn’t a thing of beauty by any means, but you’re filled with the desire to capture it on paper once you finish your task. But you can’t leave this dog soaked and soapy in the cold autumn air. You run the bath again, fresh and warm and clean.

Yet again he soaks to his shoulders once the water level is high enough, indulging in the warmth. You’re jealous. You dip your fingertips into the water.

“Should I rinse you or can you do it yourself?” You offer, hoping he’ll allow you to rinse him and feel the warmth of the water once more. You reach out a hand but he growls at you, baring so many sharp, pointed teeth that remain covered in the blood and viscera of what certainly wasn’t a rabbit. An elk, perhaps. You’ll tell yourself it’s an elk.

“I’m sorry to do this, but stay in the bath and call for me if you need anything, I’d prefer not to have water dripped everywhere.” 

The wolf flicks it’s tail in your direction, spraying you with water.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t do that, either.”

He splashes you again. 

“Just call for me when you’re ready to get out, I should tend to the fire,” you say leaving him be. 

In the main room, the white wolf sits stately and prim before the fire. You wet a rag with soap and water and approach him.

“Will you let me clean you too?”

The wolf nods and remains still. You didn’t realize that was how they communicated. Perhaps it was taught to him and his brother by their previous master.

You start to clear the gore and grime from the snow white beast, but the tips of his fur remain stained with red. It doesn’t matter. You only need to make sure it doesn’t spread onto other things or go rancid. He stays completely still as you clean him, staring ahead. When you finish he approaches the fire and curls up. Was he waiting for you this whole time? 

“One moment, I’ll fetch a towel to dry you.”

The wolf offers no acknowledgement.

“Have you finished?” You ask the brown wolf sitting in your bathtub.

He shakes his head ‘no’.

“Take your time, then.”

The white wolf nuzzles his head at the towel when you dry his head, but catches himself moments later and returns to his statuesque posture. No dog should have this much pride. 

Well, his origin is demonic after all.

“I suppose I’ll take this moment to myself while your brother takes _his_ time,” you mutter after drying the wolf to the best of your abilities.

You grab your drawing pad and begin to sketch with the charcoal you harvested earlier. 

You interpret the drain swirling with discarded things as a galaxy, but the roughness of the charcoal fails to capture your intendentions. You cross it out and flip to the next page.

Looking around the room for inspiration, you decide to sketch the creature in front of you, who is so entranced by the warmth of the fire that it’s unlikely that he’ll move until you’ve finished your work.

He’s the perfect model for you, an elegant, simple shap that you only need to carve features into with layers upon layers of shading. Art doesn’t come easily to you, which has never discouraged you in the past, but you’re especially proud of this piece. Perhaps later you’ll transfer it to a canvas and paint it properly.

You hear barking from the bathroom and abandon your sketch to attend to your guest.

You place a towel before the tub.

“Come now,” you call to your guest.

He shivers as his fur drips water onto the floor as he makes his way onto the towel.

You must have spent longer sketching his fellow than you noticed, judging by how cold the water is. How did the temperature only bother him now?

“Did you doze off, little one?” You coo.

The wolf snarls at you, but you ignore it and continue drying him off. He can’t hurt you, and in this way he’s currently dependent on you. With the intelligence these creatures have, they certainly know better than to bite the hand that feeds. Or in this case cleans. 

“There you are,” you step back and toss the towel with the dirty laundry after drying him to the best of your ability. “Now come warm yourself by the fire.”

He walks slowly and deliberately in front of you. He’d be quite the sight if it weren’t for the damp fur clinging to him and ruining the silhouette.

When you catch up with him, the white wolf is sitting before the couch with a paw on the drawing pad you left on the seat. You approach him and note that it’s still turned to your sketch of him.

“Yes, it’s you. Isn’t it lovely? You’re such a dignified creature!” You reach a hand out to pet his head and he lets you, despite his glare.

He huffs and sits beside his brother, who’s curled up by the fire, dozing off. 

The white wolf adjusts his position and looks at you again.

“Would you… like me to draw you again?”

The creature nods, then closes his eyes and points his snout in the air.

As dignified as he is, he’s rather haughty.

By the time his brother wakes, your drawing pad is filled with sketches of this creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, every single character in this is gonna be a dog, dork, or both. A... dorg?


End file.
